Sturdy Girls Unite!

So remember when I started this blog and I said that sometimes my posts would have little or nothing to do with being a preemie mom. That I reserve the right to compose an entire post on brownies? Well. Here you go. No brownies but something that’s been on my mind and I wanted to share. And guys-this one is probably more girl-focused, sorry. But don’t stop reading, you might recognize your wife or your mom or your daughter in here somewhere. And if you do-make her get out from behind the lens.

Sturdy. That’s how I’d tactfully describe me. In a cheerleading pyramid, I’ve always been on the bottom layer-you know, holding up the smaller, lighter girls. It’s a little ironic that my perfect-for-childbirth sized hips never, in fact, were used to their full potential in that regard. In my Type A-Monica-From-Friends world, its the one thing. The one thing I can’t always manage to control. I’ve had moments of triumph, years even. Losing weight and keeping it off. But the last 3 years? Less success. More doughnuts.

I have a pretty contentious relationship with my body. And I wish I could say otherwise. My body after all, was given to me by God and it works well. And for the most part, it is healthy. So I shouldn’t begrudge it. I should really celebrate all that this body does for me. That it lets me pick up Tucker. That it lets me tell my husband I love him. That it lets me drive to work, and use my brain to do work I really really like. Those things are blessings and I should be thankful. But I’m not always. And I want to be.

There are some parts of my body that are more contentious than others. I’ve been giving my uterus the silent treatment for years now. That it would not do the ONE thing that it was supposed to do, the one thing it was in fact, created to do, feels like the ultimate betrayal. Preemie moms, and especially the micro preemie moms will tell you that one of the most powerful emotions they feel is guilt. It is overwhelming. Crushing at times, especially in the NICU. Watching your impossibly small baby struggle so very much all because your body didn’t hold up it’s end of the bargain. Knowing that it was your body that didn’t give this baby the nice, healthy, home where he could develop the way he should have. Well, its just unbearable.

And then there’s my metabolism. No love lost there either. I can’t eat doughnuts and not work out, and then still rock the skinny jeans (WHEN oh when will those miserable things go out of style?). And I’m ok with that. I know that working out needs to be part of my life. And we all know my obsession with all things sweet. It is a somewhat cruel and ironic genetic pairing-having terrible metabolism and a sweet tooth (a ‘sweet entire mouth’ actually). And when I’m stressed, the notion of “moderation”? Does not exist. And the last 3 years, stress eating has been my olympic sport of choice.

So this is how I’ve found myself here. Here, behind the camera. Shying away from the evidence that I look this way. And I’m not alone. Women all over America hide out here with me. Not wanting to officially document some part of their appearance that they wish was different. Their frumpy-ness. Their sturdy-ness. Their no makeup-ness. Their less toned-ness. Their fill-in-the-blank-ness.

My friend Susan, after I sent her maybe the millionth picture of Tucker, texted back to me-‘don’t forget to put yourself in some of these pictures. Tucker’s gonna want to look back and see pics of his mama’. She said it was hard for her too, to get in the picture. Say what?? Suz is one of the cutest mamas I know-she should never be worried about a pic of her. But so many of us are. Avoiding the picture, the verification, of how we’re not as young as we used to be. It made me think. She’s right. It is actually really important for our families (kids, spouses, parents, friends) to be able to look back and see us living life with them. In pictures.

Susan also sent me a post that I had seen before but that tells this story a little better than I am doing here. I wanted to share it with you because I know I’m not alone.

So. For me, in this stage of my story, this is the time for me to make peace with my body. To forgive it for not doing what I wanted it to do these last few years. To be thankful for all that it allows me to do. The time for me to change the things I can. The time for me to get out from under the wagon (where I’ve been propped up against the wheel eating ice cream) and crawl back on. The time for me to work with the metabolism I was given and become friends with the treadmill.

The time for me to get in the picture.

If you want to do it too-know that you have a cheerleader in me. We’ll be frumpy-wrinkly-gray haired-extra fluffy-sometimes-make-up-less-usually pony-tailed together. I’ll smile for that shot in my elastic pants right along with you. I’ll support you. And you want me for support. I’m pretty sturdy.

But. I will never give up sweets.

We’ve had a good week and only one appointment-Tucker has his 4th RSV shot tomorrow. Also this week I signed up for a 1/2 marathon AND I suckered talked my friend Sandy into doing it with me. Thank you Sandy. For making me accountable 🙂 We’ve also got some pretty fun news to share next week, but I’ll wait until then when I have… pictures 🙂 (NO. there is no bun in this oven.) Just something cool to share!

Prayer Requests:

A healthy Hucks household

Please pray for a little micro preemie born just under 24 weeks this week. His name is Evan and he has some very sweet parents who love him and love God and whom we know personally. Please pray for his journey. Specifically right now for his lungs.

Tucker’s milestones-specifically speech

Our former 24 weeker friend, Ruthie who is almost 2 now but caught RSV this week-she gets the RSV shots so hopefully this will help her move past it quickly

Have a great week!

“As it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death” Phillipians 1:20

Happy mama. Happy boy.

Is there anything better?

No makeup? No time to dry my hair? Tucker didn’t notice.

We took a zillion of these. None of which Tucker is looking at the camera with a smile. Thank you Rampeys for taking one of our few family pics since we’ve been home!

Comments

Hooray for us sturdy girls! 🙂 I’m trying to make sure that I “get in the picture” more, too. I realized that I only have a few pictures of me and Jax together. I’m making my husband take more – and I’m making myself not care if my hair is combed or if I have a clean shirt on. Jax won’t care about that stuff when he looks back on those pictures, so neither should I…right? Thanks for a great post, as usual.

From one sturdy sista to the other. You are beautiful and never forget it!
P.S. My husband likes to call it ‘Desert Healthy’. I could survive for a while if stuck in the desert! Like that’s going to happen…

This is exactly how I feel!!! I’ve always told myself I have a full set of sweet teeth instead of just a sweet tooth. I think I saw your referenced article in passing one day and have tried to get some photos with my little man and me. I am dreaming of warmer weather right now and walks or bike rides in the park. We briefly went to the mall the other night and it was nice to stretch my legs and it made me miss exercising. I think about my “sturdiness” daily and wish for time and less stress to make better choices and get in some activity. I am hoping it gets a little better with warmer weather and when I can quit pumping but I think it will be a struggle for awhile 🙁 Great post!

Trackbacks

[…] And so here I was. 3 years later. After one ridiculously stressful year of NICU preemie world. Looking at the shiny new treadmill in our once office. 65 pounds heavier than when I made the half marathon threat on the couch 3 years ago. I took a day or two and hurled insults at myself for letting it get so out of hand. And then I sucked it up. And I (gasp) put in print my half marathon goal: Sturdy Girls Unite. […]

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Who Is This Rookie?

I don't trust people who don't like sweets. Monica Gellar is my spirit animal. I work. I write. I mom. I pray. I wife. I eat. I go. First kid was born at 24 weeks and spent 151 days in the NICU-well that didn't go as planned. He fought and we cheered. I started writing during that time. Second kid was born on a Thursday night-her birthmom's hand in mine both of us crying happy tears. You'll find posts here about cheesecake, adoption, kindergarten shenanigans, hard stuff, Dolly Parton and whatever else I want. And you'll like it young lady. Thanks for reading. I always love adding to the team. Especially if you bring team snacks.